Page 2 of Denied

Kayla blinked. “What?”

“Never mind, just look like that. Don’t talk, don’t smile, and don’t move or blink too fast.” Christine grabbed some hairpins and went to check the curtain again. “There’s a back door behind the stage outside. That’s our way out. Come on, we can do this.”

Kayla grabbed her hand and followed her through the curtain. They emerged in the back of a dark, smelly bar. She kept her head down and focused on the heels of Christine’s stilettos, flinching as a big, heavyset man with an unconvincing comb-over staggered out of a men’s room.

“Hey. Nobody told me there were twins dancing tonight.” He swayed and leered at Christine’s breasts. “You two like to tag-team, or what?”

What he said made Kayla frown. She and Christine didn’t look anything alike. Yet when she glanced at the mirrored wall, she had to stare. In the costumes and wigs they were almost doubles of each other.

“We like anything you like, sugar,” Christine said, her voice a coy purr. She sidled closer, and rubbed up against the drunk as if he were the sexiest man on the planet. “Come outside and we’ll give you a private preview.”

Kayla didn’t understand why Christine wanted the man to go with them, until she saw how his big frame blocked them from view. Dark Fae were scattered around the club. She nearly froze when she spotted Dirk Blackstone. He was grunting and jerking behind a naked woman who he had propped against the bar.

The most horrifying thing Tara had told her burned in her ears: He’s been fucking me in my dreams since I was thirteen.

Dirk Blackstone wouldn’t touch her sister again, Kayla thought, a strange calm settling over her. She’d cut off his hands with a hacksaw, if need be. His penis, too. Maybe she should take care of that right now, just to be on the safe side.

Christine’s hand clamped on Kayla’s shoulder. “No,” she said flatly. “You’re not doing this now. We’re outnumbered, and he won’t kill us. Not right away. Do you understand?”

Feeling as if she might vomit, Kayla nodded, and followed Christine and the drunk outside.

Christine closed the door gently and turned to the fat man, who gave her a big smile.

“So what do you two do?” His expression froze as he looked down at the fist gripping his genitals.

“We say good-night,” Christine said. She took away her hand and rammed her knee into the same spot.

The drunk went down like a sinking ship, toppling over to whimper and clutch at his crotch.

Christine started searching the man’s jacket pockets, but Kayla saw something move in the trees. A motorcycle without a rider slowly rolled out of the shadows and stopped to idle in front of her. She knew it only looked like a motorcycle. In its true form it was an enormous, fire-breathing black dragon, created to serve the Blackstones. But something made her reach out to it.

“Hell, Kayla.” The dancer grabbed at her. “Get away from that thing,”

“It’s all right,” Kayla said, though she didn’t know how she knew. But when she touched the bike she felt a powerful surge of determination and fear, not evil intent. “It isn’t here to hurt us.”

Christine uttered a sound of disbelief. “Are you kidding? One of these things burned me to death. You remember, right before I came back to life with boring brown hair, and all my tattoos gone?”

You must leave this place now, lady, the dragon whispered inside Kayla’s head, his deep voice rumbling inside her bones. Only take me with you, and I vow I will guard you both with my life.

Kayla’s telepathic ability allowed her to communicate by thought with horses–and now, it seemed, shape-shifting dragons, too.

“Why should we trust you? You helped the Blackstones attack our camp.”

We were given no choice.

Hundreds of horrific images poured into Kayla’s thoughts, but as gruesome as they were, she felt completely disconnected from what she was seeing.

I’m in shock.

It felt bizarre to realize that she really didn’t care about anything but hurting Dirk Blackstone for what he’d done to her sister. But Tara wasn’t her sister. She was Dirk’s.

“Stop the slideshow, please.” Kayla climbed on the motorcycle, and said to Christine, “Get on.”

The dancer shook her head. “I’d rather walk back to Forever Faire.”

As the back door of the club started to open, Christine divided the hair pins she carried between her two hands. A heartbeat later she staggered backward as the bike shot forward. It was all Kayla could do to hang on to the handlebars.

Hold tight.